


Evergreen

by WanderingTiff



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Character with heart defect, Mentioned Murder Case, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingTiff/pseuds/WanderingTiff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren Jaeger was born and raised in Sitka. But being born with a heart defect results in people unintentionally giving him a pretty wide berth. When a mysterious man named Marco Bodt moves right next-door and befriends him, his outlook on life changes for the better.</p><p>Eight months ago, Jean Kirschtein was accused of a murder that happened in his house during a party. Since then, he is avoidant in turn of the people who now despise him, rightfully so. Despite the much appreciated gratitude of a developing friendship with a rather content duo, he doesn't know who to trust when he finds himself in that situation again.</p><p>The story of two men who cursed their town for closing them down, and the man who guided them out of the catacombs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Evergreen is basically my latest ot3 project. Expect a lot of drama, I am so sorry.
> 
> *Eren has a heart defect in this fic, but the only sources I use for his condition are approved websites like the American Heart Association.

_Breathing. Inhale, exhale, shaky respiration. High_ ringing in the ears mixed with a quickened pulse.

Mind races, time stops. World goes in and out—in and out, and around again. Daily traffic halts. The wind stops and stares, trying to bring life into an anxious face. Kisses sullen lips and reminds of soft smiles, happy places. It comes gradually, luring in the one who stares at the scenery of their final hour.

Stiffening fear, agonizing pain. Relief comes in the icy cold that spreads from the hairs on the head to the tips of the toes.

_Take my hand._

Reaching out. Inhale – exhale, rasping pleas of “Take me away.”

The wind is rough, beckoning the wheezing and wounded to stay. It’s hilarious to think that just some gusts of wind to remind of the earth can attempt to make one stay. What, with the sirens singing and the people screaming at the sight of the wreckage but doing nothing to help the fallen.

The hand reaching out looks much nicer.

Inhale, exhale, and the frail release echoes.

Mercy holds the hand of the fallen.

Breathing halts, the light’s so bright. Consciousness is fading, and fate is sealed with a kiss.

Kiss of Death.


	2. Eren

_I can memorize the different trees_ that I see from the view below. I know which body of water is which, and how smooth the Pacific and the Gulf flow for me. It welcomes me every year, for the past thirty years of my life. It knows my name when I come over it.

 _Eren,_ the wind whispers softly as I close my eyes.

Eren Jaeger is my name. Or I’m better known in the records as Patient Jaeger, Eren L. – Male. Hair brown, eyes green; Age thirty-two, five foot-six. I alternate from going to Anchorage and Mt. Edgecumbe constantly. It has become a routine.

I’m a regular at hospitals because of my heart. I was born with a hole in it—or as doctors like to call it, Complete Antrioventricular Canal Defect. Sure, I was treated for it starting at age two, but there’s always something wrong with it. I just got back from Anchorage because the patch used to surgically repair my heart had started to leak again. It needed to be replaced.

God, sometimes I wonder why I am still in Alaska. I can’t afford going from Sitka to Anchorage every year. I probably should live somewhere closer, but I guess I can’t just bring myself to leave. My family thrived here. Whether it was my great-grandmother’s lineage in the Tlingit tribe or her husband moving here from the Phillipines, or my father’s family becoming so wealthy in industry. I’m the last of the remaining family.

That’s a lot of fucking pressure, considering I have all this shit with my heart.

I have long since accepted that I’m going to have problems for the rest of my life, and among them included that I don't even know how long "the rest of my life" is. But sometimes I just wish someone was there for support, or something. My family inheritance is not going to last forever, you know. No matter. I’m happy, I suppose.

At least I get to come home after these visits. And at least I can see the evergreens and the bodies of water underneath the plane. They remind me that I’m going home.

\--

 _I must have dozed off sometime_ during my flight. That happens a lot, actually. But coming home feels very refreshing. Everyone knows my name and asks how I’m feeling, but I don’t think they actually would take the time out of their day to really spend time with me.

It’s eight o’clock at “night,” but a funny thing about July here in Sitka is that the sun barely sets. That’s something people get used to here as well.

“Hey, Jaeger!”

That voice is something that I will never get used to. I turn to see the blonde giving me the snarky stare from outside the liquor store.

“Shouldn’t you not be hanging out over there?”

“I’m not going in it, thanks for asking,” he mutters.

Jean Kirschtein is all kinds of colorful. He’d lost the respect of most people in the town because he’d been spending all of his money on drinks and parties. Something happened involving a court case, and things got pretty ugly. I still don’t really know what happened.

“Don’t _you_ want a drink, Jaeger?” he then asks me.

“You know I can’t,” I snap back.

He crosses his arms. “It’s not that you can’t. You just don’t want to. Scared to share a drink with me?”

It’s a tease. I haven’t seen Jean drink alcohol in months.

“I’m actually responsible about what happens with my body.” It was a little much to say something like that, but it was something to get him to leave me alone.

I notice the comment really does upset him. “Just go home, asshole!”

“Jean, c’mon. You know I’m messing with you.”

Jean just glares at me, but he does walk away. And I head home myself, to a little house not too far from downtown.

A few neighbors wave at me and wish me good health. I just go about my way like usual, not really acknowledging their sympathy. Recovering from surgery is always very tiring for me, which of course people around here really don’t understand. Otherwise they would, I don't know, offer a ride of help with my bags. Something like that. I mean, if you really wanted to help me so much and be all “supportive” and shit, wouldn’t you actually come over to me and do something about it? Well, it’s not like they really can do _anything,_ but it’s the thought that really counts.

My bags are pretty heavy. I can’t believe I’ve been carrying them all this way. I’m starting to feel the strain that takes hold on by body, and it’s telling me to slow down. Fortunately, I’m right in front of the little cottage just a few yards from Crescent Bay. Home sweet home.

I just didn’t expect the two-story ranch next door not to have the “For Sale” signs plastered across every square yard or so. Guess someone finally decided to buy the old place. Not that I care. Whoever's there is probably just going to be like everyone else. Every newcomer is the same.

 _“Heart defect? You mean, you’re going to_ die??? _That’s awful, oh my god!”_

 _“How can you have a hole in your heart and_ survive? _Dude, I can’t belie—”_

Yeah, you’d be surprised. Seems that most people that visit Alaska think that me having a heart defect makes me some kind of poster child for unwavering pity. I hate that so fucking much.

Yes, I’m going to die. Just not any time soon. Hopefully, at least. Besides, everyone does. People die every day, but just because you have one thing wrong with you that might shorten your life span, _everybody’s_ gotta feel sorry for you. And do you know why they do? Either they want to give you a false sense of security that they’re apparently there for you. Or, if they really are a jackass, they are trying to reassure themselves that you have it worse than they do.

Ever hear that expression before? Sure, it’s great if you’re the one saying it about someone else that is experiencing something that’s probably worse than you can ever imagine. But first world problems assure everyone that my case is an example of “having it worse off than you.”

I for one, don’t think I’m better or worse than other people. And I really don’t care either. I’m me, I have my own case. I shouldn’t have to compare what’s going on in my life to someone else’s. I don’t have any time to feel sorry for myself.

I sit down on the porch swing to help me relax, and I have a nice view of where the bay meets the trees beyond. I look towards the sun that is still rather high in the sky despite it being eight o’clock at night. My kind of summer. It seems that while I was taking my breather, the new mover showed up in front of the driveway. They had a rather nice sports car. Must be one of the newer models I’ve heard tourists rave about. Must be rich. Not that I wanted one. I like my little station wagon... even though it breaks down every once in a while and I find myself walking home on days like these.

Most neighbors want to see why the hell newc would want to live here of all places. I mean, Anchorage is a few hours away, and a lot nicer of a city. And Juneau is even closer. Sitka is what I’d like to call a small town; everyone knows your name and story (sans Jean Kirschtein, he is an interesting case), it’s all “wholesome” and shit, and of course there is limited service. Yeah. Teenagers that come here often freak out and beg to go home after the first day. Whatever, who needs all the background noise anyways?

However, instead of me coming to the neighbor, the neighbor comes to me. A little unusual, but whatever. But the interesting thing about this neighbor is their sweet smile, as if they are welcoming _me_ to the neighborhood that I for one lived in my whole life.

The stranger stops at the bottom of the steps to my porch, just watching me. They aren’t exactly waiting for me, but they look anxious and happy to see me. I sit up in the porch swing in an attempt to greet him.

“You know, most people just say hello when they want to make friends,” I call out, earning a chuckle from the other. “Where I come from, what you’re doing is called weird.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” The stranger clears their throat. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Okay, I know I’m pretty, but you didn’t have to tell me.” I stand up, only having to hold on to the railing at the steps for a couple seconds. A better record than before I left for Anchorage. “Now really, why are you here?”

They just smile at me again with that welcoming smile. “I think I should introduce myself now.” As if they are trying to give themselves a pep talk in front of me. I didn’t think I was that important, anyways. “My name is Marco Bodt. I moved here from Seattle.”

Oh. My Nana told me a lot about people called “city slickers,” who move here when really they obviously can't handle living in a place with limited cell phone service, let alone settling deeper into the country and up further north. That’s... kinda what my father’s family was originally like, but there are still some people that want to do that, not knowing what they were really in for. And right now, just this guy saying that he was from Seattle is giving me that impression that this is the kind of person he was.

Nana also told me not to quickly make assumptions of people just because of where they lived or how they dressed, but I just can’t help it. I have this problem where I can only see the worst in people upon first impressions. I guess it’s an attempt to just shield myself from getting this glamorous description in my head of a best friend before my eyes before I realize too late that they are the complete opposite. Kind of a shitty defense mechanism, though.

I give him a small wave and move myself backwards up the steps. “Yep. And I’m Eren Jaeger. Nice to meet you.” It’s half-hearted, but I hope he doesn’t dwell on it. “So, what brings you here from Seattle?” He is my next-door neighbor, I’d might as well get to know him a little bit.

“Well, it’s been a while since I’d been here, and I was hoping that coming back to my roots would help clear my head a little. City life is far from exciting.”

Is it bad that my eyes light up at hearing that? “You mean, you’re from Alaska?”

“I was born in Juneau,” is Marco’s response. “I moved down so that I can pursue in my public relations career.”

 _Born in Juneau_  is probably the most enchanted thing that came out of his mouth, and the only thing I remember him saying in the next minute. I move back down the steps and reach out my hand. “Then it’s really nice to meet you.”

As we shake hands, the brunette in front of me smirks. “What? You thought I was some... city slicker, or something?”

“Well, no...” I snort. “But your sports car wasn’t helpful in this first impression.”

“Thanks a lot,” he laughs. “Anyways. I moved here about... a week ago, and this is the first time I’m seeing you. So, I decided to come by and say hello.”

“Hello to you too,” I smile. “Yeah, I’m not a very good host. Would you like to come in or something?”

“If you don’t mind, of course.” He is still standing at the bottom of the steps.

He seems determined. So, I decide at that point to let the guy in. He doesn’t seem so bad. “Just don’t touch any of the trinkets, okay? They’ve been in my family for generations.”

“No problem.” I sense him looking around at my Nana’s treasures. At least, it’s treasure to me. Even though I’m not pure Tlingit, I’ve kept her things after my family started dying out. They are a good reminder of where I came from. I tried remembering the linguistics from what little she taught me, but of course after a few years it started getting really rusty.

“My grandparents were originally from the continental US, but they came up here. So, here I am.” Hearing Marco makes me turn around. He is looking curiously at the patterns of the blankets that are thrown over my couch. “Is this Tlingit?”

“Yes. My great-grandmother was from that tribe,” I specify. “Wonderful woman, she loved making blankets.”

“How come you don’t practice it now?”

I shrug. “Well, my father’s industrial family kind of beat the shit out of the culture for my mom’s family. And my Nana’s family didn’t really approve of her relationship with her Filipino husband, so they kinda just slowly lost touch. ‘S fine, though. I just keep these to remind me of where my family came from, y’know?”

“Then how come you don’t keep any miniature models of oil rigs and skyscrapers from your dad’s family?” he teases.

“You have a lot of questions there, Sir,” I laugh but hesitate. “It’s... Sir, right? I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s Sir, technically,” Marco says. “But it’s too formal for me. I just like Marco instead. Or Marc... However, my parents didn’t really approve of that nickname.”

“Marc sounds kinda cheesy.”

“Thanks.” Marco rolls his eyes. He then looks out the window. The sun is finally starting to set. “This is my kind of sunset. It’s beautiful.”

I can’t help but nod. He’s very right about that. “I love summer here. The sun is always shining.”

He smiles and stares at the view just a few moments longer. “Wow, I never had a view like this in Seattle. Never truly realized how homesick I was.”

“Then you need to plan your real estate better.” I go over to the kitchen. “Hungry, Marco?”

“Nah, I ate at the Bayview.” He walks over to the front door. “It was nice to finally meet you, Eren.”

“Nice to meet you too.” We shake hands again, and I manage a more decent smile than I do to most newcomers. Maybe because he doesn’t know my story. He doesn’t even need to know, after all. “Welcome to Sitka.”

The brunette flashes me this pleasant smile. “Glad to be here. See you around.” He waves and heads out the door, but me clearing my throat stops him.

"By the way, I don't keep miniature oil rig trinkets on my fireplace because it looks extremely tacky," I grimace. "Don't worry, I still have my father's old files from his company to remind me of them."

"Sounds like you're very, _very_ proud of them." His sarcasm makes me laugh.

"Extremely." I frown exaggeratingly before waving, and I close the door for him.

Sure, my father's family was far from friendly. They didn't even accept the cultures around here. Now that makes me really wonder why my mom married my dad, I should probably stop thinking about that again.

The highlight of my day is that this is my first possibly real friendship in a long time, and I almost call him a city slicker. If positive acquaintances are going to be a reoccurring thing now, I really need to work on my people’s skills just a little bit.


	3. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __
> 
> "How could you tell me that I'm great,  
>  When they chewed me up, spit me out, pissed on me?  
>  Why would you tell me that it's fate,  
>  When they laughed at me, every day, in my face?"

_The clock in the corner ticks_ much too loud for comfort. Sweat is beading off my forehead as I stare at the gavel hammer down once, twice, demanding silence in the room. Eyes are all on me as I fidget in the defendant’s chair. My paid attorney looks at me in scorn even though he is supposed to be on my side. Then a voice echoes in my ears.

_“How do you plead?”_

I stare at the judge in the front of the room. She is staring me down with this god awful, terrifying expression.

Judge Leonhardt has always scared me.

I gulp out a distorted sentence that comes similarly translates to “Not guilty.”

But apparently I wasn’t loud enough. I wasn’t sincere enough. Because her eyes narrow even more and everyone is glaring as if I’m lying. I’m not lying, I swear it!

“I believe you don’t understand why we are here, Mr. Kirschtein. You know the crime is very serious, and I need your undivided attention. I think we can meet a middle point here, right?” she seethes. “Now, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty.” This time I’m sure I was more sincere.

“ _How_ do you plead?”

Is she trying to make me break? What is there to really confess? I did nothing. It was my party, yeah, but I know I didn’t do it... right?

“ _Not guilty._ ” I think raising my voice will help a little. Her expression does not change. But my plea will not.

“Mr. Kirschtein, how do you plead?”

The woman seated as the representative in the plaintiff’s chair is now screaming at me with this tear-stained face. “Don’t you dare say ‘not guilty’ again! Stop being a compulsive liar, and own up to what you did!”

I look at her. If I say “guilty,” then I would be a liar in the court of law. No matter what I say, it is not going to end well on my part.

How is this, in any way, fair to treat people in the court of law?

“Not guilty!” I shout again. Finally Judge Leonhardt stops asking, but I just keep going. I’m not really setting myself well in this court case. “I didn’t do it! I know I didn’t! Stop telling me I am lying! I am not guilty! I did not kill Franz Kefka!”

\--

_“I did not kill Franz Kefka...”_ This garbled mumble escapes my consciousness as the alarm clock starts to blare. “I didn’t do it... I didn’t. N-not guilty.” As the alarm gets more piercing, I jolt awake and slap down on it to turn it off.

Sitting up, I look in the mirror on the door to my room and see the haunted expression I wake up to every single morning. Shaking my head, I get up from the bed and go about my daily routine.

They used to call me the Canadian Party Animal. I’m not even Canadian, my parents are. But I got used to the nickname very quickly. My family is wealthy, so starting around high school, I threw parties. Everyone liked them, because I often got a lot of access to music in the Continental US that just hasn’t hit Alaska yet. I don’t know what it is, my town is usually a little bit behind on some things.

I was the coolest because from day one, I’d thrown supposedly the best parties in Sitka. Pretty much the _only_ parties in Sitka. I was one of the best places that high school kids can get alcohol. Not that I continued letting teenagers come to my parties after I turned twenty-one. What kind of responsible adult would I be?

I threw parties all the time, no matter what day of the week or occasion it was, and a majority of my consciousness was spent intoxicated. On top of that, I never worked a day in my life. I was nowhere near responsible. I was spoiled, to be completely honest.

That’s probably how I ended up in this situation.

I almost lost in Kefka v. Kirschtein because of crime I did not commit. I barely knew him, why would I want to kill him? His wife had conjured up some idea that maybe I did it because I was jealous of him. Of what? He was married and forced to settle down with one person for the rest of his life. Who wanted all that noise? So no. There was absolutely no reason why I could’ve killed him.

But somehow, at my Winter Solstice Celebration—the longest night of the year—Franz Kefka was found dead in my bathroom, stripped of his shirt with stab wounds on his torso. That night I was obviously drunk (I think I hooked up with someone that night, maybe), but apparently I had enough sobriety in me to go upstairs with a kitchen knife and precisely hit all of his vital areas.

The problem was that it was my party. They couldn’t point any fingers at anyone else apparently, but one of them just had to point to me, the one responsible for the celebration. Of course I said that I didn’t do it, but either way I was arrested and kept in a cell for weeks before I finally had a hearing. And my attorney didn’t even help me. Funny that you ask someone who was childhood friends with the deceased to represent the man that was a suspect for killing him.

The ending verdict was a pure miracle. They found the knife that was used to kill Franz, and get this. The guy that killed him was his ex-boyfriend. I don’t even remember his name. All I know is that he was born in Nome and traveled a lot, and that he had an extreme hatred for Franz’s wife.

Even though we all now know who killed him, people still try to say that I was the one that did it. That I apparently “framed” the real killer. There is always something added to my case to bring in more investigators. All of them of course being false. Hannah is still upset with me because I threw the party that he died in. The situation is all one giant mess.

I really do feel bad for her, though. She was ten weeks pregnant when she found out.

I hate that all this happened. It shouldn’t have, and of course I feel terrible. No one will ever let me forget it. I even stopped drinking, I felt so guilty. And there was no point in throwing those parties anymore if no one was even going to come to them. So I’ve been like this ever since.

The Canadian Party Animal became a washed-out miser. Maybe that is because of my aggressions on everyone who seemed to think they had a better conscience than I did.

I can’t stand it. Maybe I’m being a big baby about this whole thing, but I’m just so upset that I got into this mess that I can’t even begin to explain it. I know I’m going to get stares when I go and shop for food. I know that if I just so happen to be next to the liquor store on my way to the bank, I’m going to get smart remarks. Like what happened with Eren the other day.

One minute I think that maybe I can be friends with that guy, and then the next I realize that he is just like everyone else. He flowed into the crowd and decided not to be the better person in the bunch. Not like I could’ve gone very far in an acquaintanceship with the guy, anyways. I can tell just by how we first met.

There was one party that he went to, and after talking to each other for a while we just so happened to be in each other’s arms during a dance. This led to us rushing into the nearest bedroom rocking our hips together and kissing in time with the booming bass downstairs. And all of a sudden, I find that I just can’t stop thinking about the guy.

But that same night I just so happened to stare at his body far too long for his comfort. At his torso, where he has unevenly growing chest hair and scars from countless surgeries. At that point he told me to get off him, treating me like I was his enemy. Maybe I am his enemy.

But I realize now that he isn’t any better. Saying that he is “responsible for what happens with his body” was just a kick in the head. He doesn’t even know what happened to me, I don’t think. Maybe he was in Anchorage again. And yet, he can believe the rumors and the stories and use them against me, just like everyone else.

But I don’t hate him.

God, hatred does not come to mind when I see him on the street. I know that me staring at his body probably caused him to detest me, but I can’t help the way my heart pounds when I see him just glancing briefly in my direction in that one second I was paying attention.

I’m so attracted to him, it’s disgusting.

But like I said before, he wants nothing to do with me. No matter. I can always find someone else, or something.

Who am I kidding, the only way I will be able to find someone else is if I move away from Alaska entirely, to somewhere that no one knows my name. I don’t even have the strength to throw parties anymore. I’m thirty-two years old.

This morning I’ve spent way too long contemplating my life story again. Checking today’s date, I realize that it is grocery day. I probably don’t have anything in my cabinets right now anyways, come to think of it. So out of reluctance, I leave my house to go downtown.

I just wish that people cannot easily recognize my car when I drive by. I’m surprised that Papa let me keep some of the money that we have an overabundance of. Like I said, I was a spoiled kid. I’m still not entirely sure how living on my own is supposed to work. Now I really regret that past, but it can’t be helped now. I have to figure out how to do everything alone.

As always, when I come into town, there’s always one person that wants to start shit. And that person today is none other than Thomas Wagner. We used to be best friends, but after everything with the murder trial happened, he wants nothing to do with me. Well, except for when he needs someone to torment. That someone being me.

“Kirschtein,” he calls out from the other end of the parking lot. He’s heading towards me though. “What’s this I hear about you having a fling with Hannah?”

Oh, great. More rumors. This is a new one. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Nothing like that ever happened, Wagner.”

“That’s not what Nack told me,” he grinned.

“Nack is a drunk.” I roll my eyes and head inside the grocery store. I just need to grab what I need to and leave. Then I can avoid all of this chaos.

“Funny you should say that, considering you are a drunk yourself.”

“ _Was.”_ I think I put too much unnecessary emphasis to it. “I am not like that anymore.”

“Now _that_ I have a hard time believing.”

I frown and don’t look at him. He’s having his fun, but I really don’t want to hear it anymore. “I’m surprised that even after you break the friendship off with my, you still try and find ways to talk to me. Now, it’s just to tease the shit out of me, which you used to do at some point in our friendship anyways. That’s kinda funny, actually. So, I really need to know. Are we still friends, or no?”

“What are you _talking_ about?”

We’re obviously not still friends.

“I need you to do me a favor and stop trying to bring up these arguments and rumors,” I sigh. “In case you didn’t notice, I really don’t have the patience for this bullshit anymore. Goodbye, Thomas.”

I hear him say something really ridiculous as a comeback. Something like “At least I’m not a killer.” I’ve stopped falling for that stupid insult, after it stopped being offensive and started becoming more and more annoying.

I shouldn’t have thrown that party.

My cart bumps into someone, and I quickly look up to apologize. It looks like the person in front of me is about to do the same. That is, until we both realize who we just bumped into.

I look at Hannah and tilt my head down. “Oh... Hello, Ms. Diamand.”

There is no point to me in calling her Mrs. Kefka, if Mr. Kefka is no longer present. That already makes me even more of an asshole, apparently.

“Jean.” She says my name curtly. “Aren’t you going to step aside to let me get what I need?”

“Well, what do you need?”

She points up at the shelf. “I need that cereal for Franklin.”

She named her baby Franklin?

This is my first time seeing her since the end of the trial. And it’s my first time seeing her and Franz’s son sitting in the cart. He’s only a few months old, by the looks of it. Poor kid doesn’t know his father.

Out of an act of courtesy, I give her the box of cereal myself. I happen to look at Franklin a little too long for his mother’s comfort, and she starts to back up from me.

“You know, I’m not really what the police claimed I was, right?” I say shakily. “I was proven innocent. I’m not going to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” she sighs. “But, it’s just that hunch. I’m sorry.”

I just shrug. I’m more used to this than I admit. I especially wish that this wasn’t a regular occurrence. I want people like Hannah to look at me and not be afraid of what I could supposedly. I want guys like Eren to stop linking my history with alcohol to the present, and what I could apparently start up if I go ahead and drink again. It was old news. It should not define who I really am.

I don’t even know who I am anymore.

“It’s alright,” I tell her. “It’s just… your son’s beautiful, Hannah.”

“Thank you.” She says it so quickly that I swear she is trying to make our meeting shorter. “He of course looks more like his father already.”

I frown. “Hannah…”

“I’d better going,” she then tells me. “I have other stuff I need to get before I have to take Franklin to my mother’s.” She takes her cart and turns around so that she can head about her way again.

She doesn’t say goodbye.

There have been times where I tried to help her. I’d felt so bad that I wanted to give back, maybe help her with her expenses and the baby. But of course, she refused. Either she is too proud to accept it, or she doesn’t want my kind of help. It doesn’t help either that the people around here don’t seem to understand that I am _trying so hard_ to gain their trust and respect back. I want to be able to walk on the street again without a reminder that there has been blood spilt on the shower floor in my house. I want to have a reasonable conversation with people that I could relate to. It’s very hard to find that in a town where no one wants anything to do with you or your story. They are only interested in distorting it into something far uglier than when it was originally manifested.

I only buy essentials today. I almost forget the laundry detergent, though. Mom always reminded me to get that whenever I shopped with her. The cashier is very casual with me, of course. They always are.

My car is always too far away from the grocery store when I come outside. Always. The bags are heavy, and the road is always just the right amount of busy for the people causing the flow of traffic. It’s probably fate’s way of saying that I am always going to get fucked over one way or another. Today, it just so happened to be the tourists coming in to see the Bay, and how calming it can be this time of year. Some stupid shit like that the tour guides made up so that they can get more money from people outside of the state.

Alaska’s great and all. It’s the one place I can tolerate that has the right amount of noise and chaos, but it has the wrong amount of fingers being pointed directly at me. Somehow that supposed to be a “balanced” way of life around here. I’m just basically begging for the guides to open up an attraction that says something like “The Home of the Accused Murderer” plastered to my house in neon lights. That will _really_ be an eye-opener.

I hate Sitka sometimes.

I also hate that people don’t know how to look in front of them when they are walking. All of a sudden there is someone that bumps right into me. It’s not like I am invisible, there is still enough sidewalk here from the crosswalk this mystery person came from.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, asshole!”

Then this stranger has the nerve to apologize to me.

And at the same time, I have the nerve to actually get up and forgive him, without adding any rude remarks.

Maybe it’s the suit that does it.

This man in front of me is wearing the type of suits that my dad wears. Of course, they probably do not work in the same business, otherwise he’d be somewhere else in the goddamned country, far away from Alaska and leaving all their bullshit behind. And money.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” I purse my lips. This guy is not as “polite” as everyone else, but he does have that out-of-place look about him.

The brunette shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I was born in Juneau, but before coming here I lived in Seattle.”

I shake my head and cross my arms. “Wanna know why I don’t believe you? Why the fuck would you come up to some town like Sitka, when you can just stay in Seattle and be glad that you’re not in Alaska anymore?”

“The city isn’t all that great,” he tells me.

“Are you kidding?! I would do anything to live down there. Can we trade places?”

The stranger looks at me with this surprised expression, almost as if he is taken aback by what I said. But then he chuckles, his head shaking in time with the smooth vibrato of his laughter.

“You don’t want to trade places with me,” he murmurs.

“Oh, you don’t know that,” I smirk. “The name’s Jean. Jean Kirschtein.” I hold out my hand.

He looks at my hand for a second, almost hesitating before going ahead and shaking it. “Marco Bodt.”

“Nice to meet you, you crazy asshole,” I grin. “You should hurry back to Seattle while you have the chance.”

“I can’t leave now,” he sighs. “I have a job to do.”

This sparks my interest a bit. What can possibly be here in Sitka? “What kind of job?”

“A complicated one,” is all he tells me and leaves it at that. But then he attempts to change the conversation. “Listen, Jean. It’s actually a good thing that I ran into you. I want to ask you a few little questions.”

There it is. There goes the beginning of an interrogation. There goes the control in my heartbeat. It vanishes in the sudden breeze that whips through our hair.

Of course, I have to say something. I always do. Staring at the other person like they have ten heads and falling into the hot, bubbling anxiety in my chest never works. I gulp out a response that is supposed to sound like “What kind of questions?” but I don’t think it came out exactly the way I wanted it to.

“Just some quick ones, not to worry,” the man says. “Your cooperation is very much appreciated. Think of it more as a survey.”

Bullshit, it’s a survey. I hate to jump into conclusions, but this is the only way that I can perceive this. Why is there someone coming after me and going on my case again? What did I do wrong now? Did Hannah say something about me looking at Franklin too long? What, I get accused for being a murderer, and then there is yet _more_ labels that can be thrown on top of me? What the hell is wrong with everyone here?

I feel like I’m going to be sick. No more questions. No more. I hate them all. Every question leads to more questions and faces pressed way too close to my own _screaming_ at me and demanding answers, even if the screams are as faint as the softest whisper. They’re there. They’re coming and getting more and more frequent.

“No further questions,” I gasp out, already seeming to ask for more judgment. “You’re not gonna find anything else about me than you already know!”

It’s now Marco’s turn to look at me like I have ten heads. “What are you talking about?”

“I am done with questions, you understand?” I put my groceries in my car. “No further questions. If you want to interrogate me further, you’ll have to speak to my lawyer!”

“Wait – Jean!” Marco calls out just as I hurry into the driver’s seat. “You don’t understand, it’s nothing like that!”

I was finished with questions my last day in court. Then some man in a suit comes to me and says that I need to be questioned further? No more… I can’t take it. I don’t know what I did wrong this time, and I don’t know how many more times I can say that it’s not my fault until suddenly it really is. It’s amazing how quickly the world will turn against you because of one decision made that led to a giant misunderstanding.

A party. That was why all this happened to me.

This guy from Juneau or Seattle, or whatever, has a lot of nerve to come in and say that he needs me to ask me so-called “questions.” Now is not the time, nor the place. There is nothing more that they can possibly dig up. Absolutely nothing that can make anything about my life any worse than it already has become. I can’t take it.

And the rest of Sitka better realize that, next time they try to make up some kind of bullshit story to start up shit and make things worse.


	4. Eren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winner Is...

_The breeze is very relaxing this_ time of year. I am so pleased to take it all in this summer. I kinda missed the way the wind felt on my face, whereas I would normally be lucky if I even saw the light come in from the window of my hospital room that I’m sure the bed still has my body imprint on it.

I hate the hospital with a bleeding passion.

Now that I’ve had about a week to recuperate from coming back to Anchorage (it’s the policy at my job, and I’m forced to follow it), I can finally go back to work at The Pub. I’ve been a waiter there for about ten or twelve years, and everyone knew my name at that point. And there really is no reason to leave, because who would want to hire someone on their fishing boat that has a defective heart? Apparently nobody, last time I tried looking for a job at the harbor. So much for that as my first choice job.

It’s their loss. I think I’m a pretty good worker. I have nice ethics, I’m good with people. I get a nice tip every now and again that helps pay for my car, mostly.

Not only am I a good worker, but since I’ve been there for so long, I know what everyone wants and needs, whether they are a long-time regular or a tourist that just wants to stop somewhere real quick to get something to eat.

The people there seem to be pretty happy that I’m back. Some are almost eager enough to get a decent conversation out of me. My boss is also glad that Sasha no longer has to run for both me and herself now that I’m here again. I wash my hands in the back when he approaches me.

“Good to see you’re back, Eren.”

“Thank you, Mr. Smith,” I smile, fixing my apron. “I’m all set to get back to work.”

“Glad to hear it,” he smiles. “How’re you feeling now?”

“Just as I always felt,” I insist. “It’s not really that big of a deal. They had to replace the patch again. The doctors almost tried to convince me to get a defibrillator.”

“And what did you say then?” my boss asks.

“I told them I’d rather not unless it was absolutely necessary.” I shrug and grab a tray of food that is already set for a couple tables. “Because it isn’t. Plus, I really don’t want one. At least, not yet, anyways.”

“You’re not gonna be young forever, Eren,” Erwin sighs. “You’re thirty-two. Sooner or later, your body is going to start to slow down faster than you’d like it to.”

“But right now, it’s running fine.” I give him a nudge. “Am I the only one that doesn’t mind that I want to wait a little before I take huge precautions like that?”

“Apparently so,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for looking out for me, but that’s not really want to hear right now.” I grab the tray and get on with my job. A few more “Hey, Eren”s greet me so warmly but just don’t reach me the way that I am hoping they would’ve. Erwin is always there to give me some kind of support when I need it, I’ll have to admit. He’s a little better than his partner Levi, one of the bar tenders here. Sometimes I just wish that he wouldn’t take it so seriously.

My coworker Sasha has just finished taking an order and sees me. She looks so excited as she waves at me. And all I can do for her is wave back as she approaches.

“Welcome back, Eren!” she grins. “I didn’t realize you were back in town yet. Erwin told me that the operation was serious.”

So much for a proper “hello.”

“It wasn’t as serious as it could’ve been,” I state for her. “My doctor gave me a hotline to call in case something like that happens again. Which it won’t.” I don’t mean to sound choppy. I’m just irritated. I just want a good first day at work without people that keep asking how my heart is.

“Touchy,” she frowns and stands beside me still as I try to take another order. “What’s with the grump on your face, pal?”

I exhale my next breath audibly. “I’m just a little annoyed right now that everybody here seems to think that just because I had another operation, that means I’m suddenly vulnerable. I’m the same as I am after every operation. Not gonna be changing any time soon.”

“Okay okay, I’m sorry,” she huffs. “Remind me to never piss in your breakfast.”

“My—wha?” I turn but she is already heading in another direction. I roll my eyes and continue about my business. Both of our moods are eventually going to pass, so long as we keep away from each other for the next hour and a half or so.

I’d hate to admit this aloud, but by the time I’ve gone through most of the rush, I’m already exhausted. That’s not exactly something new about my body; it’s merely a nuisance more than anything else. If I can go a day without feeling like I have to sit down every time I do something “physically draining,” that would be the happiest day of my life at this point.

At four in the afternoon, I have my break at the bar. I don’t drank alcohol there—not that Levi would ever even have to think twice about giving me a shot glass anyways—but there has been a period of time where I have lived on absolutely nothing but their food. I order my usual, and just hope that Sasha hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary to my dish. The day is long, the faces are a blur, and I can’t bring myself to say “hi” to every single expression that tries to get my attention. Not tonight at least.

Then there is someone beside me that I just recognize by a brief glance to the side. Needless to say, I have no idea how I actually bring myself to socialize with this one person compared to everyone else here at The Pub. Maybe it’s the man’s smile that draws me in, just like it had done so the first day we met.

“Hey,” I murmur, trying to just get his attention. “You’re… Marco, right?”

He turns to me and gives me that show-stopping smile yet again. “Yes, that’s me. Hey, Eren.”

“Wow, you remember my name on the first try? I must be a shitty neighbor then.” I chuckle and lean against the counter, earning a grimace from Levi by doing so. “What’re you doing here?”

“I can’t bring myself to do some actual grocery shopping yet, so I’ve been coming here every night since I moved in,” Marco explains.

“Tell me that you at least have some food at home for your other meals.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “I still have stuff from Seattle.”

“When did you move here again?”

Marco glances down, I guess so he can think for a minute there. If he’s thinking for this long, then that must not be a very good sign.

“That’s disgusting!” I say out loud.

“Wait, I-I didn’t say anything yet,” he stammers. “It’s been, uh… three weeks?”

“That’s fucking nasty, man.”

“What, none of it hasn’t gone bad yet!” Marco insists.

“I sincerely doubt that.” I get up from my chair. “As soon as I’m done with my shift, I am inspecting your house.”

“Oh yeah?” He crosses his arms. “What time do you get off?”

“Every day!”

I’m just about to say when I do when that creep Auruo interrupts me from his table. I turn around to face him. “Go home, Bossard! You’re drunk!”

“Ain’t it true, though?” he slurs. “Every day? I’m sure your boyfriend can tell me.”

“Boyfriend?” Marco tilts his head.

I’m pretty annoyed with this guy. And it’s not the first time he gets on my nerves. “Will you just leave us alone? I’ll call Mr. Smith over here, and he’ll take you out himself.”

Then Auruo comes closer to us. The smell of alcohol on his breath is making me very nauseated. “C’mon, I won’t tell anyone if you’re embarrassed.”

“Auruo, knock it off!” Levi must have been listening to us. “You don’t want to spend the night in a cell again, do you?”

“It’s Jaeger’s own fault that he can’t take a joke.”

“And I’m guessing it’s Sasha’s fault that you keep trying to touch her ass again? I need you to leave.”

“And _you_ should leave for being a fucking killjoy!” He gives a much less threatening point of his finger. His attention then seems to get drawn to something else. Despite the little spat here, Auruo gets up and walks out—more or less stumbles.

“Bossard…” Marco muses. “Where have I heard that name before?”

“Maybe on the news?” I shrug. “Auruo Bossard is the father of the boy who drowned in Swan Lake. They say he fell in, and Auruo was inside by himself when he should’ve been watching him.”

“Jesus,” he breathes and stares at the same man that’s now outside trying to find which direction he is supposed to head in order to go home. “I’m guessing that things did not really end well after that?”

“Not at all,” I tell him. “There was an emotional funeral, an ugly divorce, and a whole lot of trips to the Pub. He’s a ‘regular’ that no one wants to see. I can’t recall the last time he was sober.”

“Is his partner still around?”

“Petra?” I watch Auruo finally walk away from the property. “She moved to Juneau last spring. Probably to get away from everything here. I don’t really blame her.”

“Me neither,” he says softly. “But still, Auruo could’ve moved past it.”

“We don’t really talk about it.”

Auruo is far past needing help. There is no telling whether or not there is a way for him to get better, to let go of that past and move on to a better future, like his ex-wife did. From the minute I saw that story on the news, saw Petra sobbing and begging for her son back, and saw Auruo demand that the cameramen and reporters had to leave their property, I figured that this never intended to be an easy fix. This was four years ago.

Maybe now is a good time to change the subject… or maybe go back to the one that we were originally at before Auruo interrupted us. “So, uh… what did you ask again?”

Marco glances at me. “What time do you get off of work?”

“Oh.” That question is now more easily clarified. “Eight.”

“How about I’ll come back and pick you up?” he insists.

“Sounds perfect,” I smile. “And lemme tell you something. If I find one thing in your house that is expired, I’m treating you to a _real_ dinner. Grocery shopping, most likely.”

“Your treat, I’m guessing?” he smirks.

I lightly shove his shoulder. “Don’t push it, Marco.”

He frowns at me. It’s kinda funny to look at, really. His frowns do not fit on is usually cheerful face at all. “Fine. I’ll see you at eight then.”

“Good.” I give him a grin and then get up after my break. That was pretty relaxing, more or less. It could’ve been better if Auruo didn’t decide to put his own perverse two cents into our conversation. Shit happens, though.

The rest of my shift goes by rather smoothly compared to earlier. When it is eight o’clock and I punch out the way I always do, I see that familiar sports car pull up in the parking lot. I give my well timed greeting to the overnight waitress—her name is Hitch, by the way—before heading out to the car.

Marco does question my boldness for getting right into his car before he has the chance to roll down the window to reveal that he indeed was the driver, but we do not dwell on that for very long. Despite the high sun on this summer “night,” it was still pretty late.

However the bigger issue at hand here is that he is deciding to play Usher in the car on our way to his house. I give him this dumbfounded expression. I guess we are just a very contemporary crowd. He laughs at me for being so broad with my reaction.

“What? None of you guys listen to Usher around here?”

“You’re the weird one for being one of the only people in this town with a cellular phone.” I gesture towards the strangely small flip phone resting in one of the cup holders of his car.

He glances at me while trying to pay attention to the road. “Don’t you talk shit about my cell,” he laughs. “It’s two years old and still fully functioning.”

“Too bad you probably can’t even use it out here.”

At that point he grimaces at me again. “Well, there’s that.”

“Mmhm.” I look up at the sky from my window. It’s starting to get a nice pink tint as the hours wane by. Before I know it we are already at the bay and pulling into Marco’s driveway. We already make ourselves comfortable by going inside the house, but I have not forgotten why I’m really here.

He goes into the kitchen and fishes through some cabinets. “Hungry?”

I go to answer, but then I catch myself. “Whoa, buddy. I’m not eating anything in your house until after I check the expiration date on at least four items you have.”

“Oh. Right.” He sulks and goes over to his fridge. “What exactly are you checking here?”

“One meat packet, one item from produce, a can, and a loaf of bread.”

“Why those particular items?” He looks in his freezer and takes out a packet of chicken breasts.

I shrug. “Well, I’d be checking your meats, fruits, grains, and your canned… whatever that may be. And if you’re eating something bad, then you can get yourself sick. Now I, as a responsible citizen and friendly neighbor, can’t let that happen to someone that just moved into town. That wouldn’t be very nice to put you in that situation.”

“…I see.” He then grabs a bag of apples, his bread, and then a can of green beans. “There we go. Check away.”

“I shall.” I check the chicken first. “Expiration date on your chicken is…” I pause for dramatic effect. “August 15th, 2005. It’s safe.” I put it down. Next on my list is the green beans. “Here we have a canned ‘nonperishable’ food item, and the date is June, 2007. Safe.” I put that down next to the chicken.”

“I promise, all of my food is safe at this point,” he insists.

“Can’t be too sure. Better to be safe than sorry,” I hum and look at the apples. “Alright… already this lovely artifact is… not looking so lovely.” I check the date on them. “July 15th?!” I stare at Marco. “These expired two weeks ago!”

“…Oops?”

“‘Oops,’ he says.” I toss the apples in the trash. “Unbelievable. Have you eaten an apple recently, Marco?”

“Not since I moved here, so I’m still safe,” he mutters. It’s very light-hearted, though.

I move on to the last item on my list: the bread. This one I’m actually kinda hesitant on, after seeing that the apples were a complete disaster. And my suspicions are pretty much spot on. The date on this loaf of bread is July 24th. Last week.

I stare at Marco. “Now, are you gonna tell me that you haven’t had a piece of bread in the last week either? Please, just to ease my poor, Good Samaritan heart.”

“Hey, it’s penicillin.” He shrugs.

His response to my question makes me throw the loaf at his chest. And his braying laughter only startles me just a little bit.

“Alright. I found two spoiled items in your house. That means you have to go out and actually buy fresh food,” I tell him. “I’ll monitor you on your shopping spree to make sure you don’t get the wrong thing, of course.”

He’s been crossing his arms the whole time. Somehow he manages to smile as well. “Alright. I’ll go out shopping tomorrow, and I will take you with me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” I reach up to try and wrap my arm around his shoulders. Of course he’s probably six inches taller than me, the bastard. “Don’t you laugh at me,” I mutter up at him at feeling his torso begin to vibrate from muffled chuckles.

“Alright then, I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Noon, I guess. Or wait.” He rubs his chin. “What’s a good time for you?”

“Probably ten in the morning, if I wanna get to work by noon.” I wink at him and head to the door. “Well, it’s been quite an adventure inspecting the contents of your fridge.”

“Yes, it has.”

I turn to leave, but I hear him call my name. I turn back to him to show I’m listening now.

“I just have one last question before you go,” he insists. “There’s this one guy I met a couple days ago. Actually, a little bit after we first met. And I’m actually wondering what’s… wrong with him?”

“There are a lot of guys that have a lot of things wrong with them in this town. Take Bossard, for example.” I shrug. “Who is it?”

“Jean Kirschtein.”

“Oh, him?” I’m a little surprised. “At least he even talked to you. He doesn’t associate with anyone anymore, really.”

“Why, what happened?” he asks curiously.

“I honestly don’t know.” I lean against the doorframe. “I was… out of town. It happened about eight months ago, I think. You’re never gonna get the story out of him. I’ve tried, and I’ve known him for a long time.”

“Did you guys have like… a history, or…?”

“No way,” I laugh and shrug it off. “I knew him in high school, but he didn’t really know me that well. I saw him a couple times after we graduated, that’s about it.”

“I see.” He purses his lips. “Well, that’s all I really wanted to know. Thanks for clearing that up.”

“You’re welcome.” I open the door again. “Just so you know, you’re probably gonna never get to talk to Jean Kirschtein again. Like I said. He kinda, never associates with anyone.”

“Duly noted.” He waves me off. “Walk safely.”

“I’ll try.” Still amused by his comment, I smile all the way home.

God, it feels nice to have an actual friend in this damn town. And not someone that is just gonna be there solely to throw a pity party because of me. Very refreshing.

I can get used to this.

\--

_The grocery trip wasn’t as long_ as I’d wanted it to be. It felt like only forty minutes with him, when in reality by the end of the trip I was almost late for work. The only way I was able to realize that was when we looked at his sorry excuse for a cellular telephone. Then he proceeded to of course rant about how it is 2005 and everyone should have one by now. But we just don’t roll like that in Sitka right now. I mean, in Anchorage I saw a few people with those phones, but no one really around here. Not even Jean, who used to have the latest and greatest in technology and entertainment.

I really like hanging out with Marco. He is a really nice guy to hang out with, and I can’t imagine going a whole day without seeing him or talking to him anymore. And it’s only been a couple days. He’s officially my best friend, and no one can even try to convince me otherwise.

Well, except maybe Sasha.

“So, how many times have you gone out with this guy?” she asks me as she hands a slip with an order written on it to the cook in the back.

“A few times.” She gives me a challenging look that makes me fess up an actual number. “Okay, five times. Five times we’ve gone out and done something. And then there were several times in between where we actually went to each other’s houses and spent time with one another.”

“So, you’ve both been in each other’s places?” She walks off to another table. “And he hasn’t given any impressions at all that he might be a serial killer?”

“Sasha!” I cover my mouth dramatically. “How can you say that about the one guy that actually takes the time to see me as a person?” I give a lopsided grin and take my pencil out from its perch on top of my ear. “Y’know what, you’re right. You’re absolutely right. The only possible way that someone would ever treat me right is because the person wants to kill me. Thanks for spreading awareness, Sasha.”

“Oh my god, stop being a drama queen.” She stops talking to me for a couple minutes to take an order, and right when she comes back to me and hands me one of her trays she strikes up the conversation again. “I’m only looking out for you, okay?”

“And I don’t need you to,” I insist. “I have my own judgments. And I don’t think that he’s really that bad at all.” I set the tray down on the table that the order belonged to, handing everyone their designated orders. I smile at them as they thanked me. “Enjoy your meal,” I tell them politely, hoping that there is a nice tip for me in the near future.

“Okay, if you say so, Eren,” she says and shrugs. “Maybe I’m just a little too cautious.”

“A little?” I raise a brow, taking the empty tray back over to the counter. “A little is if you say, ‘Hey, maybe you should carry some pepper spray with you just in case he touches your butt,’ or something like that.”

She shrugs. “Fine. Don’t take my advice.”

“Please, Sasha!” I beg and go down on my hands and knees. “Please, I love you!”

“Get up, you big goon,” she giggles. “Everyone knows you’re gay.”

“Says you,” I pout and get up. “Thanks a lot.”

“Any time, sweetheart.” She pats my shoulder and goes on about her normal shift.

As I watch her go I sigh deeply and sit down again on one of the stools. That’s enough excitement for me for the next several hours, probably. God, I hate that I’m still so tired. As if I haven’t rested enough the past few weeks. The doctor said that I should be my normal self by now. And this… believe me, this is not how I normally am.

Maybe I am a little careless about what happens with my body. But I have this strong sense that I don’t need this medication I have to take. I don’t need that defibrillator they want me to get. I don’t need to be told yearly that my heart is functioning properly, because I _know_ it is. And in reality, I actually do need the things that I’m deliberately lacking. But that sense is probably just stubbornness, now that I think about it. Or maybe pride. Something along those lines.

I’ll consider this a resolution on taking better care of myself. It’s about time I realized how critical my health really is. No more denial.

\--

_After another couple weeks of actually_ keeping this incredible friendship intact, I invited Marco over for dinner.

I’ve taken a lot of time on making this meal special for Marco, given that we’ve been friends for a while now. And I think I’m doing a pretty good job on being a proper host. I’ve cooked fish all day, and I’ve tried counteracting the smell with a nice-smelling air freshener. Unfortunately, I can’t spray too much of that stuff anyways, and it more or less just masks the scent.

Marco knocks at my door at about seven o’clock. Now that it’s mid-August and summer is starting to transition to autumn, the sun is not as high in the sky as it would be around this time just a couple weeks earlier. The sunsets still look pretty great, we have to admit here.

When I answer the door, I hurry and toss aside the apron I’m wearing. “Hey, Marco.”

“Hi.” He smiles as I let him in. “Something smells good.”

“I’m hoping you mean the Airwick, right?” I laugh nervously. “I know, Pacific Cod doesn’t really smell that pleasant as it’s being cooked, but—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he insists and grins. He’s already taking his seat. “I can’t wait to eat.”

“Me neither.” I smile and set the table. “You know, I only inspected chicken when I was at your house that one night,” I say thoughtfully. “Please, tell me that your fish was safe as well.”

“I uh… haven’t actually brought fish with me from Seattle,” he murmurs. “I bought that when we went on our grocery trip.”

“Ah, I see,” I sigh, sitting right across from him. I’m already starting to eat, whether he’s ready or not. “You don’t… say ‘grace,’ do you? I’m not really that religious.”

“A man of Tlingit and Eurocentric descent that is not religious,” he muses.

“Shut up.” I throw some vegetables at him.

“We can only hope that these greens are safe,” he stammers with an artificial apprehension to his voice. His fork picks at the vegetables before he actually eats them.

After that we pretty much eat in silence. Nothing wrong with that, really. I actually find it a little peaceful, just to enjoy each other’s company and become rich with Omega-3’s. The usual good stuff, and wholesome happiness of a friendly meal. At least, I’d like to think that it is. For all I know, this might just be very incredibly awkward.

But we already know each other… sort of. Well, Marco knows that I have my high school diploma but just never went to college. I know that he got his degree while in Seattle and was on a marketing campaign down there. Right now he is working from home to get away from the city noise for a little while, which I can totally get where he is coming from there.  He knows that I take yearly trips to Anchorage every year, but of course he doesn’t know why. I can’t tell him that I have this heart condition, otherwise he’ll be just like everyone else. I know he would.

Anyways, I also know that none of his family are really of native descent or even involved in the fur trade or industry. He said that his great-grandfather was involved in the Yukon gold rush for a period of time, but the rest of his family was generally from the Continental US. Then they just so happened to stay in Juneau around the time that he was born, just because they felt like it, basically.

He knows about my family history already, from the day we first met. And I still refuse to have an oil rig model trinket on my mantle. That was probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard anyone say.

After our dinner was over, our silence was starting to get very uncomfortable. I’m not even sure what to even bring up as a conversation starter.

He seems to have come up with something, though. “So, how’s your job going?”

“Pretty well,” I say softly and pick up after us both. I plan to wash the dishes now to get them out of the way, but Marco has other plans in mind.

“Hey, why don’t I clean up?” he suggests and grabs the pots I’ve used to cook the meal.

“C’mon, you really don’t have to do that,” I frown. “You’re a guest here.”

He shakes his head and draws up the water from the sink. “Please. You saved me from an awful bout of food poisoning. It’s the least I can do for you.”

I drag my hand through my hair and go over to the living room. “Fine. I’ll turn on the TV, if it really makes you that happy to do my dishes for me. Make the kitchen shine!” I probably shouldn’t be as happy as I am now that at least he even offered to do some of the dirty work I’ve been doing myself around here for _years._

“Enjoy yourself,” he insists and continues to clean the dirty dishes.

And enjoy myself, I do. Some of the television shows on the local channels aren’t really that great. Most of them are for kids, anyways. I try to find something interesting to watch, but all of my searching only leads me to the decision to pop a tape into the VCR. That is definitely my best bet.

“Are you seriously watching Pearl Harbor in there?” I hear Marco groan.

“Yeah!” I call back. “And are you doing my dishes, or cleaning the whole goddamn kitchen? The hell are you doing over there?”

“Maybe I wanted to do a little more work on the dishes, okay?”

“I never spend that much time on the dishes ever.” I kick my feet up on the coffee table and sigh deeply, my nana’s warm blanket snug against my back.

I glance at the time for a brief moment and realize that it is seven-thirty. I realize to my own dismay that it’s time to take my medication again. Hopefully, Marco won’t notice.

I just go into the kitchen after pausing the video in the living room. All I really need is a glass of water to wash it down. But of course, Marco is running the tap to wash the dishes.

“Thanks for cleaning the table and counters off over there.” I gesture towards them as I come up to his side. “Is that why it’s taking you so long, Amelia Bedelia?”

“Wow, Mr. Rogers,” he grumps and steps off to the side. “I’m so glad you appreciate my help around here.”

“I do.” I nudge his arm and bring my cup over to catch some of the now colder water. “Thanks for the drink.” I grin and then walk out of the kitchen. That was so smooth, that I wanna pat myself on the back right now for a job well done. But right now my main focus is to go in the bathroom, take that damn pill, and get back out in the living room to watch the movie before Marco really notices that I’m gone. At least, that’s the initial plan.

Instead of what I imagined in my head, what I get is a very difficult time opening the bottle of pills and then getting my cup of water almost spilt down the drain.

“Fucking piece of shit,” I mutter and move my cup to the top of the toilet before I try and open it again. “Come on…” I strain, try as I might.

When the bottle finally opens, the capsules end up all over the floor. My poor heart jumps at hearing Marco’s voice call from down the hall.

“Hey Eren, where’d you go?”

“I’m just…” I panic and kneel down, trying to grab as many of these fuckers as I can. “I-I’m in the bathroom.”

“You okay in there?” His voice doesn’t sound any louder or closer.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” I insist, a little too quickly than anticipated. “I’m just taking a really… really painful dump!”

_A really painful dump._ Those words seriously just fucking came out of my mouth?

“…With the door open?”

His reaction is comical.

“Don’t you question me, Marco!” I frown and grab my glass of water again. God, these are like fucking horse pills, I realize as I take a look at the capsule. I hate taking medication.

“I have a really hard time believing that you’re really taking a shit, right now,” Marco says and walks further down the hall. My pulse quickens with every step I hear coming towards me. “You sure you’re okay in here?”

“Marco, don’t come in—!” I open the door a little too late to keep him out of here. He’s already in the room before I can say much to stop him. “Come on, get out!”

Marco raises a brow. I already know where his attention is at. “What’s that?”

“It’s a glass of water,” I frown, not meeting his gaze.

“You know what ‘that’ I’m referring to, Eren.” He moves closer to me.

I look away from him, even when he tries to get me to face him. “I don’t have to tell you, Marco.”

“Okay,” he insists. “Then don’t, if you don’t wanna.”

I tell him anyways.

I don’t know what drives me to tell him. I originally was going to go through this friendship without saying anything about my heart, and it seemed to be working just fine. But I don’t know, I guess a part of me just wanted me to be a good friend and let him know the truth? Some intuition I have.

“Listen. I… Marco, I have a heart defect,” I say, the words tasting awful on my tongue. “I have a Complete Atrioventricular Canal defect. In Layman’s terms, it’s a hole in the middle of my heart. And, while most kids can recover pretty well from it when they are first treated, I wasn’t as lucky as they were.” I shrug and lean against the sink. “There’s always something wrong with it. I used to go to Mt. Edgecumbe every year so they could treat it, but when the complications started getting a little more complex, I started being taken to Anchorage. See, that’s why I go up there every year. And I didn’t see you that first week you moved in, because I was having an operation to repair the patch that was originally in place for my heart.”

I’m almost entranced as I’m trying to speak. I’ve been watching Marco, his face and his nonverbal reactions to my confession. His eyes don’t widen. His face doesn’t spark with the slightest alarm. He doesn’t even flinch as I tell him what they had to do with my heart during operations. He doesn’t look _intrigued_ , exactly, but he does look thoughtful, almost insightful. Not quite the reaction I was expecting from him. It almost gives me the impression that maybe he already knew or can just easily handle something like that more than most people I’ve talked to. That’s… very good news for me.

And I just can’t stop talking now, because he sure does have his undivided attention and continues to look as thoughtful as he does when I first noticed his reaction. “So, now I have this medication I need to take. Don’t tell my doctor this, but at first I haven’t really been taking it like I’m supposed to.”

“You know that’s unhealthy, right?”

Those are the first words he’s spoken since I brought it up. He’s not babying me. He’s not giving me a hard time. I can hear in the tone in his voice that he really is listening to me, and not trying to gain anything or throw any pity like it’s my treat.

“Yeah, I know. But… I’m not really thinking that I’m ‘invincible.’ I just really wish I didn’t have to realize that I really am weaker than people who are healthier than I am. I don’t want to have to stoop down and face the facts. I want to live life without knowing that I do have a problem with my heart that I can no longer control as well on my own. I don’t want everyone else to be right about what I’ve been trying to deny.”

Maybe it’s a good thing I finally talked. Staying silent about it all the time makes me feel sick. And Marco still does not make a big deal about it.

“How come you didn’t tell me sooner?” Just a simple question, I suppose.

“I don’t usually talk about it,” I say. “This is really refreshing. You’re… actually the first person that hasn’t once made a pity comment. Or try to drown me in sympathy.”

“Now that really isn’t what you need.”

I grip the counter behind me as I lean back. “Yes! Thank you! I thought I was the only one that was thinking that!”

Marco smiles at me again. “Of course you aren’t.” He gestures again at the pill in my hand. “You’d better take that.”

“Oh yeah.” I laugh and look over at the mirror again. I take my medicine like a good patient before going back in the living room. Honestly, I do feel a lot better now that I’m taking much better care of myself. Now, I recommend following prescriptions healthily and making sure you pace yourself.

Marco is in the living room and already put Part 2’s tape into the VCR. I grimace and plop right beside him.

“How can you just skip ahead like that, you jerk?” I smack his arm, a little light. Is that playful? “I was watching that!”

“Got tired of the lines going up and down the screen,” he sighs and watches the movie. “Did you destroy these tapes? This one buzzed so loudly from rewinding.”

“I just really like this movie, is that so bad?” I sit back. “Plus, when there are days when I can’t leave the house, I watch these videos.”

He clicks his tongue while we watch the movie. “I’m gonna get you a DVD player.”

“Oh, come on.” I cross my legs. “I like my VCR, I don’t need a DVD player.”

“Maybe you don’t need it, but it’s much more convenient.” I can feel him looking down at me. “I think we should make popcorn. Or do you have to do that over the stove? Do you even own a microwave?”

“I can’t use one.” I look at him and wink as I point at my chest.

At least he laughs instead of apologizes. “Oh, right. I’ll go and try make some.”

“Let me know when you need the fire extinguisher!”

He scoffs and tries to find the popcorn. “You have no faith in me!”

I hear him fumble around in the kitchen and I continue watching the movie. The thought of having an actual friend in this world that actually treats me like a friend, even after I let them know of my condition, makes me smile. A whole lot.

I finally found a true friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that Evergreen is running a little more smoothly and I have a better feel for the characters, the chapters are going to be normal length for my writing now (5-8K) Who knows? They might be a little longer.
> 
> Thank you guys for reading! I really appreciate it.


	5. Jean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A boy with a coin he crammed in his jeans,  
> Then making a wish he tossed in the sea.  
> Walked to a town that all of us burn,  
> When God left the ground to circle the world.

_The sun is as bright as_ ever and takes me right out of my slumber. Fortunately, the Equinox is quickly approaching, so no more intense brightness even at nine o’clock at night. I don’t like how long the days are in the summer. After a while, the sun just becomes a huge nuisance. However, the season is relatively short, so it’s tolerable.

The best thing about the seasons changing is that now I can see the golden tint of Autumn’s glow. Except for the eyesore evergreens in the national forest beyond the outskirts of downtown. They don’t match the changing of the seasons.

Evergreen trees are a pain in the ass. Their coniferous nature make them immune to the cold. They think they are so invincible. Their deciduous cousins suffer the wrath of Alaskan winters, chilled to the bone and stripped naked of their previously astounding beauty. In the Continental US there are a lot more trees like the withering oak. The conditions here just remind me of how everyone sees me.

The people are like the flourishing evergreens. I’m the deciduous tree left to suffer in the cold.

\--

_Everyone is getting ready for the_ 2005 fall Equinox. And I am more than happy to be away from their grouchy demeanor as they have to prepare for the bitter cold winter ahead of them.

I for one love the winter.

Normally around this time of year, I would be getting ready for some Halloween celebration, looking for different tracks to set the mood at the Internet Cafe. I’ve been told that I throw the biggest parties, after all.

But the Canadian Party Animal is dead. He died in the winter along with the poor soul that suffered the wrath of a jealous ex-lover. The washed-out miser is deciding that maybe he should go and visit The Pub. The food there is pretty good. But if I decide to visit that place, I’m probably not going to be as welcomed as I would hope to be. After all, everyone in the town is set on believing that I am responsible in some way for the death of Franz Kefka.

This bitter knowledge makes me sick to my stomach. I wish that there was some way that I can clear up my name. I’d rather that than have to live with this false accusation for the rest of my life.

Today I head out into town. I am not surprised by everyone’s oh, so great appreciation towards me. I try to get my groceries and supplies ready for winter before everyone else does, and that’s all. I figure that this is not going to be a difficult task. Go in, get your shit, get out, repeat. Go home, relax, and enjoy the comfort of your own household without any fear of anyone bothering you or interfering with your premeditated plans.

Except, I’m currently in the process of going home and I am stopped by the freckled man who seemed determined to interrogate me a couple months ago. And I am not happy to see him.

“May I help you with your bags?” said man asks me.

“My car is right over there,” I mutter and continue my trek down the sidewalk. However, he is very persistent. He continues to follow.

“Listen…” As if trying to speak in his defense is going to make anything better. “I’m sorry if I seemed… accusatory when we last talked. I didn’t mean to come across that way. I just wanted to ask a couple of questions, like a survey.”

“A survey, huh?” I tilt my head and open the trunk to my car. “For what organization?”

This makes him hesitate. “Out of the goodness of a Samaritan’s heart.”

“But I’m not in any danger,” I mutter in response.

A pause. “Very true, but I would still like to know why you refuse any closeness with the people around here. They seem very friendly.”

“That’s a bit of a surprise, coming from someone that just moved from Seattle.”

“Well, I was—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You were born in Juneau.” I roll my eyes. My groceries are situated in the car now, and I close the door to the trunk. “Okay… that’s settled. I’m just gonna go home.” I happen to look at Marco again. “Why are you here, anyways?”

“I told you, I have a job,” he says. “I’m working away from home. It’s a brief matter of business with my company.”

“And who do you work for?”

“King’s Guard Insurance,” he explains. “I am an administrator in marketing and volunteered to come out here on account of getting more supporters from other states.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” I mutter. “I don’t believe that one bit.”

“Well, I don’t expect you to.” He smiles at me. “You know, Eren told me that I would never be able to have another conversation with you again, and I am so happy that now I’m able to prove him wrong.”

I sputter. “So _that’s_ why you’re here? Standing next to me right now? To prove a point to Jaeger? Did he pay you or something?’

“No, it’s nothing like that.”

“Ah, save your breath.” I’m probably digging a deeper hole for myself by taking my frustration out on Marco, but he really doesn’t need to delve into my business. “You might’ve been able to get a talk out of me this time, but next time you’re probably going to owe him thirty bucks.”

“Jean, come on—”

I don’t stop to hear his side of the story. I just drive off and go about my way. Not exactly going according to my original plan, but it is a close second. It’s enough to keep me on track for the rest of the night.

\--

_My encounter with Marco almost kept_ me from going to The Pub. Now that it is the night of the Equinox, it might not be as busy there anyways. That works out rather well for me. Nobody really greets me when I come inside. There is an attempt to knock me over though when I first walk over to one of the tables.

It’s kind of hard to get a drink here when I promised myself I’d never touch another bottle of liquor. It’s the least I can do to keep the same mistakes from happening all over again. So far, it’s done me some good to stay away from it.

The person that comes up to my table to take my order is none other than Eren Jaeger. I almost forgot that he works here as a waiter. Don’t see how I could because he’s been here for ten-plus years.

“Anything you would like to drink, Sir?” I hear him say. He’s definitely asking for a nice tip; he’s usually a little less polite with me when we are not in a work setting.

“…Just some water.” I was almost tempted to say that I didn’t want anything, but I really am parched. I hope the water here is almost as tamely good as their scotch.

I don’t even know how long it’s been since I came here. It’s gotta be sometime in between now and before the murder trial. In the beginning, just the thought of being anywhere near alcohol scared the shit out of me. Now it seems that I might be recovering just a little bit.

Eren comes back with my water a short time later, and he waits for me to decide what I want to order. I am really interested in some salmon. Maybe just a biscuit or a salad with that.

So I tell him so.

He just writes it down in his little notepad and gives me a polite smile. Only a smile that I can find on a food service worker when they try and make themselves more presentable.

After he leaves I look around at the rest of the Pub. There are I think three guys in the corner over by the bar. They are boisterously laughing and chugging down their liquor like it’s water. That’s kind of like how I was before everything that happened. But now that I’m cleaner, I’m surprised that I didn’t make myself sick drinking all that alcohol.

Then again, there was a period of time that I had to see a doctor about my liver. There had been fears that it might fail from me drinking so much. Those couple months of sobriety seemed to be the worst months of my life at the time. Never really learned my lesson until something terrible happened to completely shatter my “perfect” life.

The laughing in the corner stops suddenly. There is a commotion over there with three of those guys and the woman with them that abruptly stands up. I can’t hear what they’re saying because it is in hushed tones, but she definitely seems very displeased about something that the three guys sitting there said. So displeased that she splashes her drink all over a burly blonde’s face. I watch him quickly get up to get eye contact with her, in which he is quickly stopped by the taller, darker brunette beside him. The third is watching in utter amusement, shrugging his shoulders.

Whatever is going on, it doesn’t seem to be a very friendly conversation.

“You know what, I’m done,” the woman then mutters. “Fuck you guys, I’m out.” She gets her things and starts to walk to the door. On the way, I guess she noticed that I was staring at their group. She gives me a look of such scorn as she approaches my seat.

I gulp when she gets right up in my face. She reeks of the alcohol from the other end of the bar.

“You didn’t hear anything,” she muttered.

“No, Sir!” I stammer out of impulse.

At my fearsome apologies she just pats me a couple times on the cheek. “Smart man.” She walks over to the door without another word, and the three men that are still sitting there roll their eyes and pretend that nothing ever happened.

During my time of confusion, Eren walks over to my table and puts my food down in front of me.

“Enjoy…” I hear him say miles away. “You okay, Jean?”

I blink and look up. “I’m fine. Just confused.”

“Well, you did order the salmon and salad.” His responses are as snarky as ever.

“Do you want a tip from me later?” I start to eat my food while he just scoffs and walks off.

I hope to not get any more interruptions for the rest of the night, especially since the gang that was at the bar just earlier is now leaving, heading out the door and making a fuss about their exit. But of course, the only other person that is still here besides the workers is none other than Auruo Bossard, the drunk that is always here as if he lives here. Levi seems to not be giving him any drinks, though.

I eat my dinner while the slightly older man keeps looking at me from across the Pub. I feel slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. It’s not like he is going to be doing anything to me, but he is just really annoying and sometimes perverse. I’ve heard that there have been several different complaints about his presence here at the Pub. No matter how many times they try and keep him out, they are never able to get rid of him. He always comes back here somehow.

Just when my uncomfortable feeling couldn’t get any worse, he approaches me more and comes a little closer than I would allow. Despite this, I eat my salmon and just pretend that he isn’t there. It’s all I can do at this point. But he’s very persistent with the people that come in here.

“Whatcha eating?” he slurs and looks at my food.

“Salmon,” I say calmly, “with a salad.”

“Yum,” he grins. “I can’t order anything anymore tonight. Levi’s being a dick to me.”

I shrug. “Well, everyone knows their limits. Except you.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“I’m glad you agree.” I pick at some of my salad. “Speaking of that. Shouldn’t you be getting home, Auruo? It’s getting late.”

“It’s only seven o’clock. What’s _your_ definition of late, pal?”

“Don’t call me pal,” I sigh and glance up again. “I appreciate that you’re trying to be friendly, but please. I’d rather you not be up in my face. Your breath stinks.”

He shrugs in response and steps away from me. “You’re not as bad of a party pooper as everyone else here. I like you.”

As he walks back over to his seat, I finish my dinner. Sasha starts cleaning up for closing time. I can also see Levi wiping off the counter and Eren sweeping the floor. After another half hour of this, someone comes in through the door.

Of course, it had to be Marco.

“What are you doing here?” I frown and try to keep myself occupied at the table.

“I’m here to pick up Eren,” he smiles. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Eating my food during the Fall Equinox. Well… I just finished eating my food, anyways.”

“Oh, good good.” He smiles and sits down right across from me.

I stare at him, and my expression must have caught his attention. “I don’t believe part of your description was to come over here and antagonize me. I almost knocked Bossard out before for almost sitting near me.”

“I’m sure you did.” He chuckles and props his head up on the table. He’s watching Eren, his eyes lingering on the way the other man wipes down the tables. I know he is, because I’m watching him as well.

At the same time, I’m not really that jealous Marco is either. We’re both very fortunate.

“Are you two a thing?” I then ask him.

“Hm?” He glances at me. “Well, no. Not yet—I-I mean, we might not even end up in a relationship.” He rubs the back of his neck shyly and sighs. “I’m thinking about it.”

“Yeah…” I lean back. “I am too.”

His expression doesn’t change. “So… how do you know Eren?”

“Is this a part of your bullshit ‘survey,’ Marco?”

“Might, might not be,” he smiles. “Seriously, though. I know nothing about you.”

“Do you really have to?” I eventually give in. “I guess we went to high school together. I don’t remember him much. One time he went to one of my parties, and we almost hooked up. He turned me down, though. Said something about how insensitive I am, or some shit like that. It wasn’t too long ago when that happened.”

“I see,” he muses. “Okay… so you throw a lot of parties?”

“I used to, anyways,” I shrug. “Not that much of a party animal anyways.” That’s all he really needs to know.

“I see.” He nods, standing up to his feet after Eren punches out. “Ready to go?”

“Sure am.” He moves some of his shaggy hair out of his face. “I can’t wait to see Pearl Harbor on DVD.”

“How about Titanic?” Marco grins. “Isn’t that movie three tapes long?”

“Pretty close to it,” he laughs, smacking his arm playfully. “C’mon, let’s hurry there before it gets too late!”

I have absolutely no idea what they are talking about.

I don’t think I ever will.

As I watch them leave I follow slowly behind them. The sun is setting at its normal time now. The business nights are getting shorter because of it, so I don’t really have anywhere else to go but home. The couple in the nice sports car are already on their way, probably going to enjoy that whole DVD phenomenon. Not that it really makes much difference to me. I’ve had a DVD player ever since they first came out.

The ride back home is lonely. Being at home by myself is really lonelier than the car ride. The only sounds that add comfort to this silence are the wind rapping the trees against the windows and the creatures of the night who search the darkening skies for food.

Although I find myself feeling the same way I have been since the day of the trial, I notice now that there is less of a tension between me and a few other people. With that, I mean Auruo is not accusing me of being a murder but encouraging me to continue forward with the way my life was before. That’s not really a good example, but there are much better ones.

I don’t really know what has been happening with my relationship with Eren Jaeger, but it definitely seems that he is not as much of a jerk to me as he was when we last saw each other in July. He’s still as snarky as ever, and he always will be, but he is letting his even better qualities show out in the light. That’s what I really like about him.

This character Marco, I barely know. He’s desperately trying to get to know me, although I don’t think he’s doing it right at all. He needs a lot of practice. I really don’t know why he is so interested in getting to know me when he is trying to hook up with Eren, but I don’t really mind it at all. He seems very sincere about both his motives.

Maybe it doesn’t seem like they’re making me feel better. But their acknowledgment of me and their undeterred focus on _not_ pissing me off tells me otherwise.

In the end, I can see that things might really be starting to look up for me. I really like that new change the best. Maybe if I stop dwelling on the past and the way that people originally saw me, then I won’t need to try fixing myself anymore. I did enough to keep myself afloat, and I deserve a pat on the back for that, at least. So, I’ll admit. This is the first time in a while that I really feel… well, good. Good about myself and good about the upcoming future. If I can even say that, anyways.

I use this as a little boost to help me get to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your appreciated feedback!


	6. Eren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall  
> Or the mountain should crumble to the sea  
> I won’t cry, I won’t cry, no, I won’t shed a tear  
> Just as long as you stand, stand by me.”

_Revisiting my parents’ place is always_ very hard. I still haven’t finished cleaning it out because of how many breaks I’ve taken from going to the hospital—despite the “FOR SALE” sign that’s next to the mailbox. I’ve been pestered over and over by the realtor to have everything out, but it’s not really _easy_ doing it all by myself when there have been days, months, _years_ that I was just too sick to get out of bed.

So, when I finally have a day out of the week to come back here, I bring a couple boxes and set them right down by the stairs to the basement. I’ve gotten the second floor done months after my dad died, and I’ve been working my way down. I’d finally finished the first a few months before, shortly before the patch on my heart had leaked. So my next—and hopefully last—stop is the basement.

I’ve never liked my dad’s basement. It’s so dark and cold, and I know I can hear rodents down here pattering on the floor and gnawing at whatever doesn’t break their incisors. Everything about this place just makes me want to keel over.

With one of my boxes in hand, I set it down and look around. In the dead silence of an autumn afternoon, I can actually take in what I’m looking at inside the room. The sun beaming down from the twelve-by four inch window next to the dusty washing machine is my only source of light, the electricity having been turned off a long time ago. And with this sunshine, I navigate through a mess of papers and collectibles that were probably much too precious to have upstairs where people can take it. Some of these things I can actually sell, I have no use for them at my own house.

I’m fortunate that the only primary items down here are those collector’s items and some old clothes. The desk comfortably placed at the back corner of the room is the last thing I have to look through. I make a final transition with boxes, and with my last empty one I rest it on the desktop. There’s nothing on top, but the wood has been chipped and weathered with an age that I can’t imagine was ever in my father’s lifetime. If I try to sell it, it probably wouldn’t be worth much. Come to think of it, it must’ve never really been used for its purpose. The three drawers along the sides are empty, but the widest one in between the legs has no knob. However I’m able to open it by pulling along the edge of its woodwork.

Inside it is nothing but a single folded piece of paper. I take it out and open it out of curiosity. I recognize the chicken scratch on the paper as my dad’s handwriting. The words look a little broken on the page, each one starting with a capital letter.

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_I Do Not Have What You Are Looking For._

_Stay Out Of My Home And Away From My Family._

_I Refuse To Be The Keeper Of The Key._

I read silently in confusion. I really have no idea what my dad is talking about in this note. What “Key?”

I fold up the note again and put it in my pocket. That’s enough excitement for one day. Maybe sometime this week I can take the desk out of here and chop it up. I have no use for it. As I try to move it, there is a sudden chill that comes upon my heart. I’m doubled over by that sudden breeze, but the ice has stopped touching me as soon as I felt it. It spoke to me, rough and cold.

“ _Eren….”_

Startled, I look around me and then at the window. I walk over to check if it’s open; it isn’t, not even slightly. Maybe my mind is just playing some tricks. I plan on shrugging it off. I pick up the empty box and realize my work here is done, and I head up the stairs. But the voice calls again.

_“Eren…_ ”

It’s not as soothing as the voice above the Gulf comforting me when I make my yearly trips from home to Anchorage and back. Not nearly as soothing as the voice that calls in my dreams, the soft murmurs that bring me back to consciousness. It’s dark, like this brooding basement, with a vile, icy sting leaving the hairs on the back of my neck standing in its wake. Nothing about this voice makes me feel the warmth and safety that it does when I am about my business.

_“Get the key…_ ”

There’s the beckoning call to get the key that really packs a punch. There’s some significance with the word “key” that I don’t understand. And I don’t stop to double check. I rush up the stairs. It must be the wind, or my mind playing tricks on me. I can’t possibly take this voice seriously. This whole things has gotten me paranoid now.

God, I really hate that basement.

\--

_The town looks much warmer in_ the first couple weeks of autumn. Kind of funny, because the only warm months of the year have already passed. I like the way that the trees in town contrast with those in the forest. A multitude of colors that change vastly in the course of only one season.

Marco likes them too. He’s said so a few times on our walk in the national park. We look up at the never-ending tunnels of the piney leaves with a new-found sense of adventure. We’ve heard some animals here and there, and cries of the songbirds embarking on a hunt.

In our path we stop in front of a giant Sitka spruce. I know of this particular one very well, for I’ve always used it as a checkpoint marker whenever I’d get lost on visits here. It’s the largest one in the park; so big that the fogs of dawn still hover over the canopy on rainy days like these.

The two of us stare at its brilliance. “That’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen,” Marco says softly to break the hauntingly beautiful silence.

I look over and give him a brief nod. “Nana said that this tree was my height when she was my age. It’s one of the oldest trees here.”

“Wow,” Marco muses and keeps looking up. “I haven’t seen any trees nearly half as big as this one in Juneau.”

“And I bet they weren’t even close in Seattle either.” I tease and nudge his arm.

He seems offended with me and turns his back. And of course I can’t help but laugh as I grab his arms. “Marco, come on. I’m sorry…” I smile and rest my head on his shoulder.

He turns to me, wiping his forehead as raindrops start to run down from his hair. His pout quickly turns into a smile. “I can’t stay mad at you for long, Eren.”

“Good.”

As he faces me, I feel him wrap his arms around my neck. My breath hitches at the sudden, close contact. We’re eye to eye now, despite how much taller he is compared to me. And for once a closeness with another person is very… soothing.

Just as I tilt my head up, I suddenly feel my hood being pulled over my head, blocking my vision just a bit. I turn my head to get a better look at Marco and frown, and by surprise he kisses my forehead with a smile on his face.

We can’t help but laugh at each other for our silliness. I reach up to fix his hood as well, and I’m muttering under my breath because I don’t like the effort I have to make just to reach his head. He helps me though without question.

“We actually should head back soon. Being out here could make us get sick.”

“I suppose you’re right,” I frown, and I look towards the giant tree again.

It is there on that Sitka spruce where I definitely see something shining in the bark. It’s the faintest glimmer of the cascading raindrops that makes me not so easily fooled. Sap is not a huge concern for me, and I reach out when Marco is just paying attention to the sky. We both feel the droplets coming down on us harder.

As the rain pours down I have to yank my hand back to pull it out of its hiding place. The second I touch it, my hand darkens under its weight, and I feel that icy chill from the other day all over again.

_“Eren…”_

That voice again as well. I can hear it as I stare at what is none other than a skeleton key, covered in grime and sap but unmistakable.

_“The Key.”_

I stare at the center of the key’s hole, drawn to the drops that ricochet from the bars that confine it. The voice in the wind calls out again.

_“Take the Key. Keeper of the Key…”_

“Eren?”

That voice does not belong to the wind. I’m startled out of the strange trance. Marco’s holding my arm, and out of impulse I stuff the key in my pocket. I’m shivering still from the sudden chill.

“Let’s get back,” he says gently. “You must be freezing.”

“I’m fine,” I pout but willingly take hold of his hand. We navigate out of the forest, using a crooked branch of the Sitka Spruce as our guide to turn the way we came.

“What would you do without me?” Marco murmurs.

“Probably get hypothermia because I don’t even have any rain gear.”

We both laugh together as we find our way out, and I enjoy feeling the warmth of his hand on my own. I embrace it, tangling my fingers in his.

It’s so nice feeling this small bond between us.

—

_My first plan is to place_ the key somewhere safe. In a box, maybe. Something about this object that I found stuck in a Sitka Spruce makes me feel a little uneasy, although I really am not sure why. I keep telling myself that the voice I kept hearing belonged merely to the wind. There is no such thing as spirits or enchantments. Nana had always told me that they only tell stories with spirits as characters to teach children lessons. They work effectively, but they should not be following me this late in my life.

When I fold the now clean key up in one of my mother’s old embroidery cloths, I feel as if this key doesn’t want to be covered. Once again it turns black under my touch, displeased, as it seems. It’s late at night and the pouring rain is pounding against my house, surely it must be tricks of the shadows on this chilly night.

What fascinates me more about this key is that it almost looks like it is a necklace, with its chain fashioned out of old leather. It looks like it really can be worn. But I probably shouldn’t. Everything about this key screams, “Bad, bad, throw it out the fucking window!”

But I don’t.

I hide it in my drawer, planning on doing further investigation in the morning.

However, the night is just as restless as the day. I barely slept. I got very disturbed by images I didn’t expect to see in the back of my mind. Images of a strange blackness, of pine needles grabbing limbs like claws, sharp teeth that glisten in the light of the moon. The images I should be most worried about are the ones of my father. Images of him the last time we spoke.

_“I want you to fear nothing!”_

I toss and turn, my hand gripping the pillow. I thought I would be back to sleep by now, but the words come.

_“Dad, what are you talking about? You’re acting crazy!”_

_“Eren, listen to me! No matter what happens—”_

I shake my head, trying to just get out of the flashback.

_“—don’t give in!”_

_“What are you talking about—Dad, I’m trying to drive!”_

It was all claims that he is acting crazy. He’s been talking crazy, thinking crazy—ever since mom died.

_“Do not give in!”_

I sit upright and am jolted out of drowsiness. That’s where I draw the line here.

_“…The Key.”_

I look towards the drawer, the whispering in my head getting louder and louder. It is seven in the morning. If there was any hope of getting sleep earlier, it’s gone now. Out of reluctance, I get up and have a shower to try and wake up. The voice that is whispering to me still is getting louder and louder. It won’t stop, can’t stop. Why won’t it stop?

Help me!

_“Eren…_ ”

I want to grab the key now—need to. Maybe it can silence this endless voice. Wrapping a towel around myself once I’m somewhat more awake, I walk over to the drawer. It’s as if an elongated breath of relief emitted from this drawer, and I hurry to grab the key.

I was suffocating it.

I unfold the cloth to let it breathe. It needs to breathe. I can’t let it be confined any longer. There is a hum of approval that follows in my mind. Yes. Yes, I need to keep this key safe. It’s living, breathing. I have to keep it safe.

I use the leather to let it securely rest on my neck. There… its suffering is over.

It’s as if it can finally breathe for the first time in over ten years.

The voice is gone, and I sigh in relief. There we go… The key is safe around my neck. I’m safe from the voice. This safety and bond is mutual.

\--

_My friendship with Marco never stopped_ growing. And it still hasn’t. We’ve developed a routine together. Every night that I’m working, he shows up right on time at The Pub to pick me up and take me home. I don’t have the heart to tell him that my car is fully functional now that I’ve been paid enough to repair it. Even if I did tell him, he probably would still come to pick me up.

And every night that I’m not working, we spend those hours together, eating dinner, watching movies, and judging the difference between early millennial technology and the mid. He has his cellular telephone and DVD Player, with his Usher music and always looking forward into the future. I have my cassette tapes, my land line, and my decent taste in contemporary music.

These contrasts in our personalities only bring us closer.

Tonight we have dinner at Marco’s. We eat a wholesome meal together as the rain beats against the house. The dinner is very nice and simple, and of course he reminds me that I need to take my medicine afterwards.

“So, what movie is on the agenda tonight?” I call from his bathroom as I take my pills.

“Have you ever watched _Snow Dogs?_ ”

I tilt my head. “I never heard of that movie.”

“It’s three years old, Eren,” he laughs and walks into the bathroom just as I wash the capsules down. “It’s about this city slicker from Florida that comes to Alaska because of his biological mother’s inheritance.”

“Who plays the city slicker?” I smirk, wiping my mouth of excess water as I walk out of the bathroom and turn off the light.

“Cuba Gooding Jr.”

I tilt my head. The name doesn’t sound too familiar.

He smirks. “He’s Doris Miller in Pearl Harbor.”

“Oh!” I quickly exclaim. “I knew that!” When he laughs I punch his arm playfully and rush out to the living room. “This oughtta be good then. I liked his role in Pearl Harbor.”

“He’s your celebrity crush, isn’t he?”

“I don’t like him _that_ much!” I put a pillow over my pillow briefly. “Just get the popcorn ready.”

“On it,” he smiles as he puts the movie in the DVD player. He hands me the remote. “You know what to do from here. I’ll be right back.” He walks off into the kitchen.

The pillow is over my knees as I watch the previews, and when the main menu screen comes up, I press play just as Marco plops down beside me with a bowl of popcorn.

Since it’s my first time watching the movie, I keep trying to tell Marco to shut up about spoilers as he points at the TV and is just about to open his mouth and comment on something. He’s possibly the worst person to watch movies with, especially if you’ve never seen the one you’re currently watching before.

“The dogs are adorable, you have to admit,” Marco cuts in after we’ve been watching the movie for quite a bit.

I glance back. “Yeah, I agree. I begged my parents to get an Alaskan Malamute when I was little, but they always said no because they grew too big for our house. But the truth is, Dad just hated dogs. I found that out a few years before he died.”

He still sits beside me and thinks to himself. “Whatever happened to your parents?”

No one has really ever asked me before. I glance at the TV, almost nervous to try and explain what happened to them. However, we had been friends for a few months now. He deserves the right to know that much about me. He’s been so eager to listen, as well as patient with me.

“My mother died first,” I explain. “She got caught… in a gang crossfire.”

“You have _gangs_ here?” He looks at me, almost in disbelief.

It doesn’t sound right when I say it aloud, actually. I feel like I’m missing pieces of the memory, but this is what I choose to tell him. I look at him. “Well, there aren’t any gangs _here_. But they come here often.” I watch the movie to try and delude myself of the memories from that year. “I was ten. We were just outside of town, walking home from my Nana’s. The Titans obviously won the skirmish, but the cost of that was shooting my mom. One of Nana’s neighbors came to save me, and he kept me there until my dad came to pick me up. His name was... Hannes, I think.”

Marco sucks in a breath. “God... that’s awful.”

I nod slowly. “It was... The memory is not nearly as bad as it was before.”

I can’t help but laugh as I watch Ted Brooks get sprayed in the eyes by a skunk, the next scene skipping up to when the old car has crashed into a snow-covered tree. Meanwhile Ted’s rolling around in the snow to try and soothe his burning eyes, and Thunder Jack mocks him.

We laugh and watch for a while, but as this continues, Marco brings up the previous conversation again.

“What about your father?” he asks softly.

I just appreciate that he waited a little bit before trying to continue. This one is a little harder to resurface than the death of my mother, because this one I definitely remember every detail. “Car accident. I was driving. My beeper for my doctor kept going off, and after a few tries, I got so pissed that I took it out and checked it, but just as I looked down...” At least, that’s what I tell him about that incident anyways. Every time I try to mention about my father, the conversation that we had in between the sounds of the beeper still haunt me to this day. “The light had turned red, I ran through it, and I was hit by the incoming traffic. My dad was killed on impact.”

He winced again. “How old were you?”

“Twenty-one,” I answer curtly. “It’s probably a little easier to talk about my mom, because it happened so long ago, but what happened with my father still hurts. I mean, yes, he didn’t really appreciate me the way that Mom did, and as he got older he was less and less tolerable, but he still did so much for me. If it weren’t for him, I would still be worrying about money and finances right now.”

Marco nods slowly. “I understand, Eren. I’m sorry that you’re going through all that.”

“I guess it’s okay...” I look at the TV again. “I may not have tacky oil rig trinkets to remind me of my father’s family,” I then add in a teasing tone. “And none of the documents I have in the one bedroom aren’t that interesting.”

I move my shirt collar a little bit and sit back as I watch the film.

“That leather around your neck is new,” Marco muses beside me.

“Hm?” I turn to look at him again and smile. “Oh yeah! Look at what I found.” I take the key out from under my shirt. I rub my thumb over it to try and keep as much grime off of it as possible.

Marco’s eyes spark with great interest. He reaches out towards it slowly but doesn’t touch it. He looks at me, and I swear I have never seen this look on his face before. “…Where did you get that?”

“I found it when we were out in the forest the other day,” I explain. “I thought it looked really cool, so I took it home. I have no idea what it’s for, but it looks really cool around my neck.”

Marco nods slowly. He does look interested, but there’s something about his expression that’s really confusing. As if to mask it, he wears a smile. “It does.”

I smile back and fix my shirt. To keep myself comfortable, I shift onto his lap and rest my head on his shoulder, enjoying how the warmth of his body heat radiates throughout my own.

“You’re adorable,” Marco grins, and that makes my face warm up.

“I knew that already,” I try to say smugly. It probably didn’t work, because I stutter a bit when I’m embarrassed.

He takes my cheek and guides me to look at him after I’ve nuzzled his dark hair.

We’re so close to each other now, and it’s after a few seconds that I feel his lips on my forehead, just like the other day. I give a soft sigh of approval. His touch is very comforting. His warmth brings me to my knees. His smile radiates in a way that I can’t describe so easily. My fingers run through his hair, and I bring his face closer.

Our foreheads are pressed together, and I’ve never felt such a soothing closeness in my life. I want him to feel as warmly as I do.

Marco smiles at me, making no moves to pull away from our embrace even if he wanted to. “Eren… can I kiss you?”

I’m just surprised that he asked instead of going right for it. I definitely want to, no doubt about that.

“I’ve only been waiting for several weeks now,” I admit shyly.

“Oh, really?” he smiles.

The mischief in his tone makes me hide my face for a brief moment. We’re so close that I hope he notices my nod. When I feel his warm lips on mine, I realize that he did. I still feel warm, even after he pulls away and keeps me close to watch the rest of the movie.

“What does this mean for us?” I ask softly.

He glances down at me and takes my hand. “Well, that means that I really hope you don’t mind if I kiss you a lot more. And take you on more dates.”

I smile at his proposal, feeling along the ridges of his fingers. “I wouldn’t mind that at all. As long as _you_ don’t mind that now at work I’m officially referring to you as ‘my baby.’”

“That’s cute,” he grins and kisses me again. “But you do realize I’m thirty-three years old, right?”

“Never too early to feel a little younger by a pet name.”

We’re resting on the couch now, paying as best attention as we could to the movie despite how many breaks we’ve taken from looking at the screen and tickling the breath out of each other instead.

I spend the night at his house because of the rain, and despite how many times he tries insisting that I sleep in his bed and he can take the couch, I sleep on the couch.

\--

_Sleeping tonight was much better than_ the night before, and I don’t feel sick when I wake up that morning. Come to think of it, I don’t feel the way I usually do in the morning at all. I actually feel… pretty good!

I stare at the key that is still resting around my neck. It’s right over my heart, warm to the touch. For once I don’t feel aches, shortness of breath… I don’t feel too tired. I get up that morning, and when I take my medication, it seems as if I never really needed it. I love this feeling!

I go into the bathroom and wash up before Marco decides to make breakfast. But there is something different when I look at my reflection in the mirror.

I was born with gray eyes, like my mother. Just hints of metallic grays seem to come along the rims of my irises, making the gray color almost enchanting. But when I see my reflection in the mirror, that’s not what I see.

I see green. My eyes are greener than jade stones, with shades circling that seem to strike its brilliance like pine needles.

I’m almost scared to death when looking at my own eyes. I rush out into the kitchen, hearing Marco just finishing making eggs on the stove.

He turns to me in confusion and tilts his head. “Eren? What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” I gasp out and put my hands on the table. “Do you notice anything different about me?”

He shakes his head after looking at me for a second. “Nope. Just that key around your neck, really.”

I bite my lip. Does he really not notice? “W-what about my eyes? What color are they?”

He looks at me again and places the finished plates of food on the table. “They’re gray, of course. Eren, don’t you think I know you well enough?” he teases.

I try to laugh it off. “Yeah, I do. Just checking.”

“C’mon, sit down and eat,” he smiles and sits down in his chair. I take my place across from him. We eat our meal together in almost silence.

Marco must be right. My eyes are gray. They always have been, always will be. It must be a trick of the mind. I was just imagining things. That’s right… I’ve been doing that a lot lately.

But as I eat my breakfast, I realize that this really is no imagination. Marco may not see it, but I do. My eyes look green to me even outside of the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

Because when I look at my food and eat my eggs and sausage, I can see the jaded green eyes reflecting off my fork.


End file.
